Orbit
by professortennant
Summary: She eyed the door in front of her, knowing everything–and nothing–would change once she walked through it. Lucien was waiting for her, perhaps just as anxious, just as giddy, just as nervous as she was.


Jean was tired of waiting. She and Lucien had done nothing but wait. Contrary to what some may think, she was no prude. And she had spent long enough eyeing Lucien's arms and body from afar. She was ready to feel him against her.

So, she was tired of waiting. And tonight was the night. The butterflies in her stomach were flapping wildly and suddenly, looking at herself in her vanity mirror, she felt self-conscious of her own body.

She wasn't 20 years old any more. Fine wrinkles lined the corners of her mouth and eyes; silvery stretch marks marred her hips and belly and thighs-evidence of childbearing; and her hands knew hard work, calloused and rough.

If she was going to bear herself to Lucien, she wanted to feel as confident as possible. With a determined nod, Jean applied makeup to her best and favorite features: peach lipstick lining her plump mouth and mascara fluffing her eyelashes, lengthening and darkening them. She felt rather alluring.

* * *

She rubbed lotion over her hands and legs before slipping into the satin nightgown she had picked out with Lucien in mind. The lace edging made her feel sexy, daring.

With a final tie of the sash around her waist and a final, critical look at herself in the mirror, Jean held her head high and padded down the hallway towards Lucien's room. Their future room.

She eyed the door in front of her, knowing everything-and nothing-would change once she walked through it. Lucien was waiting for her, perhaps just as anxious, just as giddy, just as nervous as she was.

With a light knock on the door, Jean opened the door and stepped in.

Lucien was waiting for her on the bed, elbows on his knees and leg nervously bouncing. His head popped up and Jean watched as he took her in, eyes traveling up and down the length of her, chest rising with a hitched breath, and finally, finally, his eyes came up to meet hers.

Lust. Desire. Happiness. Warmth. All reflected back at her in those blue, blue eyes.

Standing slowly and coming to stand before her, hands reaching for her own, Lucien ensured she was ready. "Are you sure about this, Jean? I don't mind waiting, love. I'll wait as long as you want."

With a shake of her head, Jean cupped his cheek in her hand, smiling softly as he immediately leaned into her touch, eyes fluttering closed. "We've waited long enough, don't you think?"

That seemed to be quite enough talking, as far as Lucien and Jean were concerned. They fell into each other, exchanging kisses and nipping, teasing bites across the other's skin, anywhere they could get their mouths.

Hands wandered more daringly than they had allowed themselves before and soon, without truly realizing it, Jean's hands were fiddling with the buttons of his shirt, groaning against his mouth in frustration when the last few buttons wouldn't come apart. Finally, a quick tug ripped the buttons from the shirt, scattering across the floor.

Lucien pulled away from her, laughing. "Jean!"

Unabashed, Jean shrugged, leaning back in to kiss him and push the material off of his shoulders. "I'll sew them back on in the morning. Now shut up and keep kissing me."

Smiling and taking her back into his arms, leading them to the bed, Lucien obliged. "With pleasure, my dear."

Jean let out a small squeal of delight-a sound she had certainly not made in the last 10 years-as Lucien pressed her down into the mattress, his body covering hers as he set to work kissing the column of her neck and nosing at the exposed skin of her chest.

With each nip and kiss, Jean sighed. The feel of his beard scraping against her skin sent warmth running through her.

Jean's hands finally- _finally-_ got to explore without barrier the warm skin of his chest, arms, and shoulders. She felt the muscles bunch and tense beneath her hands and the ropes of scar tissue along his back. This was hers, now. She could touch him whenever she wished.

"As lovely as this nightgown is, it's just getting in the way tonight. I want to see you, Jean." His voice was husky and rough with desire. Jean felt his erection pressed against her thigh and she squirmed in anticipation.

Lucien's hand slipped under her nightgown, bunching it up over her hips and then up and over her head, removing it completely. As the cold air hit her body, she felt those feelings of inadequacy resurface, her hands coming up to cover her breasts and stomach, suddenly shy, and closing her eyes, unable to bear the thought of seeing disappointment in his eyes.

She tried to reach for his bedside lamp to douse the room in darkness, to hide. But Lucien wasn't having any of it.

"Sweetheart, _please_. Let me see you. I want to see you."

He sounded positively wrecked. Cracking an eye open, she saw Lucien holding himself above her, eyes dark with lust. Lust for _her_. For Jean Beazley.

She removed her hands from her chest and stomach, and laid before him, completely vulnerable and open. Lucien looked at her like she had just given him the greatest gift of his life.

With a reverent, " _Beautiful,"_ Lucien set to work on making every nerve ending in her body come alive. His mouth and hands were everywhere at once-palming her breast, pulling and rolling a hardened nipple, licking and nipping at every exposed inch of skin.

She was writing beneath him, feeling flushed and heated, every part of her coming alive beneath his touch.

With a start, she realized Lucien was kissing down her body, headed for her womanhood. She had read stories of this sort of thing, heard giggling gossip of newlyweds, but had never experienced it herself. She was glad this first was with Lucien.

Lucien kissed each jut of her hip and then looked up at her, his mouth inches from her center. "Is this alright, Jean? Can I-" He seemed to have difficulty forming words. "Can I touch you, please, Jean?"

Seeing Lucien-a powerful man in his own right-completely undone, begging to touch her, almost sent her over the edge. She threaded her fingers through his hair and smiled when he pushed his head into her touch, groaning at her touch.

"Yes, please, Lucien. Please."

With a groan, Lucien's mouth descended upon her, licking at her. Each flick of his tongue against her was like a small shock and her hips arched off the bed when he slipped a finger inside of her. He hummed against her skin and quickened the pace of his licks, pumping his fingers in and out of her.

She clutched at his hair, his shoulders, any part of him that she could reach, wanting to be close to him. "L-Lucien, please."

Her moans spurred him on and he added a third finger pumping into her. Jean felt the sting of being stretched. It had been such a long time, but Lucien was readying her, preparing her.

Lucien's tongue flicked once, twice, three times over the little bundle of nerves and Jean arched up into him, crashing over into the abyss as her orgasm overtook her.

Feeling how slick her skin was with sweat already, how flushed she was, Jean felt embarrassed. Worried that Lucien would think her too wanton, too eager.

Taking a peak at him, mouth glistening and red, Jean realized she had never seen Lucien look as happy, as pleased, as he did between her legs. The feeling of warmth and love and desire spread over her. As he stood up and began to slide his sleep pants off of his body, Jean eyed his erection, jutting out proudly, and wondered why she was ever worried at all.

How could she ever think Lucien would care about stretch marks and wrinkled skin when he looked at her like she was the sun and he was helpless to orbit around her?


End file.
